


After the interview

by Aquabelle



Category: Morrissey (Musician), The Smiths
Genre: M/M, Morrissey - Freeform, Oral Sex, The Smiths - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-11
Updated: 2016-01-21
Packaged: 2018-04-08 20:25:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4318827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aquabelle/pseuds/Aquabelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story about Morrissey, the former singer of The Smiths, is written under the impression of his interview, in which he tells about his favorite 70s musicians.<br/><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sEutfuRq4uA">(here)</a><br/>It begins at the moment when the interview is over, and the interviewer decides to invite Morrissey to his place for dinner. Chapter 1 is written from the point of view of the interviewer. I don't know anything about him as a real person, so I named him Steven (it’s just a coincidence). Chapter 2 tells about the same events from the point of view of Morrissey.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Originally, we arranged to do the interview in a quiet restaurant, but at the last moment, when Morrissey had already parked his car and was getting out of it and I was waving to him from the sidewalk, something scared him off. Suddenly he got back into the car and nodded to me invitingly. So, we ended up doing the interview sitting in his car. I didn’t ask what happened and whom exactly he saw. I absolutely did not mind; it was very nice to sit in his Porsche, so close to him. He was charming, he answered my questions thoughtfully and in details, and I felt slightly spellbound by his soft voice and blue eyes.

Eventually the interview was over, and I turned the camera off. It was time to go. The problem was that I really did not want to leave him.

I was thinking, maybe, I should have just invited him to my place. In the worst case, he would have smiled and rejected me politely. So, well, I would have smiled in return, excused myself and gone back home. I would have lay on the floor and dreamed about disappearing completely, and then I would have put the record on and listened to his voice again and again, until I fell asleep. The worst case was not that bad, not much different to my ordinary lonely nights.

These thoughts rushed through my head in a split of a second. I was still lingering, and we were sitting in the car silently. Morrissey was looking at me, and it was impossible to guess whether he was waiting for me to get out of his car, or… Suddenly it seemed to me that he glanced at my lips, and I finally dared to ask. My heart started beating furiously, and I said in a slightly hoarse voice:

“You must be hungry. You spent almost an hour with me. I would like to invite you for dinner,” Morrissey stared blankly out of the window, rubbing his chin, and I could see boredom in his eyes. I was desperate and added hastily: “Not to a restaurant, to my place, I live near the university campus. Nothing substantial, I will cook pasta, and I have some wine”

Morrissey looked at me and asked:

“Do you study at the university?”

“No, I work there.”

“What exactly do you teach?”

“Math”

“Do you like your students?”

“Well, some of them,” I answered confused, and he laughed. 

“It is not far from here, is it?” He asked.

“Five minutes.”

“Well, show me the road,” he replied calmly and started the engine, and I was so happy, I still remember that moment so clearly, nothing had happened yet, he simply agreed.

While we were driving, he asked me why a mathematician was interested in 70s music, and I told him about the university web site, for the music content of which I was responsible. Apparently, before the interview, when we were arranging it, I was unclear explaining who exactly I was. He thought that I wrote for some teenage magazine. It was a miracle that he agreed for this interview at all.

We arrived and went upstairs to my floor. I was leading and he was following me. I stumbled, he bumped into me, and his hand brushed mine accidentally. I felt how the hairs along my spine rose. He apologized, and we came in to my flat.

“I used to live in a similar place,” he said, looking around. He entered the room. Only book shelves, a bed and a computer were there. He immediately started examining my books.

“Math… more math… dictionaries, dictionaries, very well… Art albums, brilliant… Wilde? Do you read Oscar Wilde?” He looked surprised and excited. He spotted a rare collectible edition and glanced back at me. “May I take a look?”

“Of course. I will bring some wine.”

My hands were shaking, but somehow I managed to open the bottle and came back with two glasses. He was reading, his lashes were lowered. He sipped and licked his lips. I realized that I was staring at him, but was unable to take my eyes off his face. He interpreted it in his own way and said in an apologetic voice:

“I am sorry, let me help you with the dinner.”

It was not the reason why I was staring, but I was unwilling to explain to him the real reason, moreover, I could not explain it to myself. I went to the kitchen after him. I lost all words and felt desperate again, I was afraid of the prospect of uncomfortable silence. But he smiled reassuringly and in a soft voice began to tell me about his tour to Rome. He used to live in a hotel where the restaurant was on the ground floor, and tables were placed outside, right onto the pavement. At night, when his musicians used to go out, he often sat on the windowsill and looked down, and soon he knew the entire menu, and that’s how he discovered the salad which he was making right now. He kept talking about his beloved Rome; one night, he and his guys almost got into fight with some German tourists, and a local Italian guy stood up for them, and they thanked him by getting him drunk in a bar, and finally they all ended up in a police station.

We laughed, and I finally felt relaxed. At that moment I clearly realized that I was absolutely, impossibly, unbearably in love with him.

We were sitting side by side, just talking peacefully. I did not want him to go but I had no idea how to keep him. And I could not understand his behavior. His body language was neutral and completely unreadable, let alone any verbal hints. Did he agree to have the dinner with me just out of the friendly gratitude? Was he going just to stand up and leave after the dessert? Maybe, he was waiting for me to invite him to stay longer? But how? We were sitting there as good friends, everything was so innocent, and I had no idea how to change the mood from the current funny one to another more intimate direction.

And at that moment my angel must had interfered and started guiding me, because soon events began to develop very quickly and right the way I wanted them to. I still do not have any other explanation, because by myself I am absolutely incapable of any of such things, I am very shy, really.

He was sitting, leaning against the wall and watching me from under his lashes. And it dawned on me finally, that he was waiting. He would never have made the first move, because he liked to be the passive side and it was a part of the game. It was supposed to be my turn to take the initiative. I wish I knew what to do with that knowledge.

Then a miracle happened: I noticed a tiny drop of the melted ice cream in the corner of his mouth. Instinctively, I reached out my hand and wiped it with my thumb. I saw how his pupils visibly dilated, confirming that I was on the right track. He licked the drop off my thumb and held my wrist gently. The sensation of his tongue on my hand went straight into my groin like an electric charge as if he touched my cock, and I shuddered with my whole body. 

Immediately I saw painful confusion in his eyes. He was discouraged; apparently he was thinking that he took my reaction wrongly and that I was frightened by his touch, which of course was not true. He stroked my hand tenderly, released it and looked away devastated.

I took his hand, my face was blushing, I had to convince him that everything was going right. He turned his hand palm up, and I squeezed it. He glanced at my lips again, and the blood drained from my face and rushed into my lower stomach.

“You wanted to look at that edition of Wilde,” I said softly, and he stared at me for a couple of seconds as if he could not understand what I was talking about. Finally he braced himself and nodded, and we went to the bedroom. My biggest fear was that the moment had been ruined and that Morrissey actually might have taken the damned book and started reading. He took it and sat down on the bed. I sat beside him and our hips touched.

“Do you want me to read my favorite passage to you?” I asked him quietly, almost brushing my lips over his ear. He put the book down on my knees. I flipped through pages looking for the right chapter but honestly everything was blurred before my eyes and I could hardly concentrate.

I lay on my side across the bed, resting myself on my elbow, and placed the book between us, trying to think rationally or at least act as normal as I was able at the moment. He mirrored me, laying on his side too, and looked at me attentively. I began to read, but very soon my voice had given up and I fell silent.

“Yes, I agree,” he replied, and although that was relevant to the context of what had been read, it also could have been interpreted in other way as well. Apparently, to dispel all doubts, he lay on his back, put his arms behind his head and turned his face away from me exposing his neck. I understood that boundaries had fallen, and lay on top of him, pressing him with all my weight. I felt how he exhaled quietly beneath me. I closed my eyes and lowered my head, brushing my lips over his neck up and down. I rubbed my face over his cheek and inhaled the smell of his expensive cologne. I sat up astride on his thighs and began to stroke his shoulders and arms. He put his arms around me and his eyes had become unbelievably dark blue.

"Do you do this often?", I heard myself say.

"Does it make a difference?", he smiled. It did not, of course. What I was expecting? That he would confide I was the first in many years? 

“Let’s undress,” I whispered, “Please,” I was very uncomfortable in my jeans and I desperately needed to stretch out alongside his body. He unbuttoned his shirt whilst I unzipped his trousers and got rid of my clothes. I lay on top of him, enjoying the sensation of his delicate silky skin. I pressed little kisses tracing his jawline, and watched how he was reacting, and admired how his long lashes were fluttering. I kissed his lips, put my hand beneath his head, and ran my other hand through his hair. Our tongues touched, and I felt how big his tongue was. I savoured the taste of the wine and the ice cream, I smelled the flavor of his skin, I heard how his heart was beating.

I was so overwhelmed with our intimacy which finally had happened, that I blacked out of reality for some time. He stroked my back and squeezed my buttocks slightly, and I came back to consciousness. I lifted up a little and brushed my lips over his chest and belly, shifting myself down, continuing to caress him. I pulled the waistband of his boxers down his legs gently and kissed the pale skin of the hipbone, and watched his hips shuddered uncontrollably. 

Then he looked directly into my eyes, licked his parted lips and spread his legs slightly. His groin was shaved and smooth; I pressed my face against his soft skin. I touched the tip of his cock with my tongue. My lovely guest exhaled and put his hand on my head. I was repeating it slowly, again and again, listening to the growing impatience in his sighs, and soon he was moaning, almost begging. I ran my tongue around the head of his penis, but I couldn’t tease him like that much longer. I took him in my mouth, he relaxed and sighed with relief as I ran my tongue up and down and set a steady rhythm. He closed his eyes and looked content, just moving his hips a little as I kept stroking him. Soon his tranquility began to fade away, his thrusts were getting more and more strained and frantic.

I put my hand on the base of his cock and cupped his balls. He was very close to finish. I looked at him; he covered his face with his hands and was biting his lower lip. He was still silent but his head had already started tossing over the pillow back and forth in ecstasy. I swallowed and he came with a strangled cry, with the sound the echo of which I had heard in his songs so often. Subliminally, I have been waiting for that to happen since I first heard him singing several years ago. And now, at last, I was the reason he made that sound.

I lay beside him. His hair was damp, his skin sweaty. He put his hand on the back of my neck, and pulled me closer. He kissed me, obviously enjoying the taste of his own climax on my tongue. He sighed, opened his eyes and whispered into my ear: “You are beautiful”. He laid a lingering kiss on my neck and lifted up on his elbow, licking his palm, then he encircled my cock very gently and started stroking it slowly. Everything went dark in my eyes as he accelerated his movements and whispered: “Steven, Steven, I wanted you as soon as you got into my car…”. But I was unable to process what exactly he was saying, because he was caressing me faster and faster, and his voice was reverberating somewhere inside my spine. He touched my ear with his tongue, and the pleasure became so intense and unbearable, that my back arched, and I screamed as I came intensely.

I was completely exhausted, unable to take a shower or to tell how I love him. Too much excitement for such a short period of time, too many transitions from hope to desperation and back. We looked at each other, his eyes were clear and light blue again, he kissed my forehead and I fell asleep in his arms.


	2. Chapter 2

I drove up to the restaurant and immediately saw my ex manager, with whom I parted a week ago, on not very good terms. I absolutely could not go in there, so I just stayed at the car. Then I saw a guy in front of the entrance, he was wearing a New York Dolls t-shirt. He waved at me timidly, and I inferred he must have been my interviewer. I waved at him to come over and asked if he did not mind doing the interview in the car. He did not, he even made a compliment to my car. His name was Steven, as it happened. He started recording. He did not ask stupid or pretentious questions, he was not giggling or fidgeting, he listened to my answers attentively; in other words, Steven did not look like a neophyte journalist as my assistant characterized him to me yesterday after she arranged the interview. 

An hour passed quickly. We finished, and I absentmindedly started planning my evening but suddenly realized that my companion was lingering. He looked transfixed; he was staring at me, and through me at the same time, as if he was contemplating something. The pause was odd but not painful… spellbinding, rather, as though the time had slowed down and something pleasant was about to happen. We were sitting silently and I felt unusually unreal; I even looked down the street to make sure that people were still walking and leaves on trees were rustling, and we had not got into some timelessness. Well, I was not in a hurry, so I looked at him closely. Steven had greyish blue eyes and a small birthmark below his lower lip. At last he sighed and invited me for dinner. Oh, there we go. I didn’t know what to tell him. He seemed nice, but I never made friends with reporters or any press people. Steven added that he was talking about his place, which was even more unexpected. I asked him directly where he worked and it turned out that he was not a journalist, he was a professor at the university. I was intrigued, and therefore decided to accept the invitation.

We drove to his flat; I recognized these streets. Long ago, before The Smiths, I often visited the university. I was no student, but the university library was very impressive and I admired it. My mother worked there, so of course I had the pass. I enjoyed walking around the campus, students did not notice me and the atmosphere was very different from our working class district. I once had a temporary job at the library and even was provided with a small flat in the postgraduate apartment complex.

We drove up the house; Steven was nervous; was it because of me? He stumbled at the stair and I had to hold him from behind. There were plenty of books in his room, I was hypnotized by the variety of volumes. I reached out for a collectible edition, not even realizing that I had not asked for permission. The time slowed down again as I mentally returned to the past, before the concerts, before all the turmoil and bustle, when I could just lie in bed all day and read books in silence. 

Steven brought me a glass of wine. Oh God, for how long had I been disconnected from reality? Decent people, unlike me, when invited to a house, talk to the host and show some interest in him. I felt embarrassed. Well, in my defense, I accepted the invitation due to nostalgic memories. But what exactly did Steven want from me as his guest? He seemed tense, and I felt guilty for my impolite silence and asocial behavior. I made myself focus on the present events and paid attention to my host. He had rather blond hair, pale skin, long fingers and narrow hips. A lovely guy. I told him some stories about my adventures abroad, and he looked much happier and relaxed. The kitchen was tiny, and we kept touching each other accidentally while cooking. I was observing him over our neutral small talk and in several minutes was already able to draw some conclusions about him. He was about twenty five, maybe twenty seven years old, obviously single, he was not very confident in himself though I did not see why. He had a sweet smile, and, when he thought I could not see him, he was staring at me as if he wanted to eat me alive. I was flattered, I liked him, but I was not going to help him, I just wanted the events to develop freely.

We were sitting quietly, his face and neck were lit by the late sunlight, his hair looked gold and his eyes seemed half transparent. I was simply staring at him enjoying the view, and again his glance went through me, and again the time slowed down and felt like something dense, viscose, vibrating and pleasant. The wine, obviously, started to influence, and my imagination drew the picture of Steven gently pressing me against the wall and kissing me. Well, of course I did not believe in telepathy but at the same moment right there, in reality, Steven reached out his hand and touched my lips swiping something away, a chocolate crisp maybe. It was surprising and pleasurable, and somehow very erotic. Involuntarily, I lifted his hand to my mouth and licked his finger, at which point he shuddered and pulled away. I did not expect reaction like that. Such a shame. Well, no means no. 

But I was mistaken. Steven wanted to go further. He took my hand and said something very softly about the book in his bedroom. He still felt insecure and uncertain about my intentions and his own desires, as if he needed excuses to be close to me, he desperately tried to hold onto safe accessories like tea or books or something neutral. If he wanted to play in reader’s club, I was fine with that. But I was not going to push him neither was I intending to encourage him. He was a big boy and I was only letting him to do what he wanted to me.  
We sat on the bed, he touched my knee. I clearly felt his desire radiating from him. The warm wave rose up from the small of my back, to my neck, and the back of my head. He was whispering in my ear something about his love for Wilde, and it caused pleasurable tingling sensation all over my skin, like I was being caught in a thin, fine web. He lay on the bed trying to read or rather pretending to read, still clutching at the straw of innocence of our game. His soft voice charmed and spelled me completely and I lay on my back relaxed. I didn’t know what other hints he needed. At last Steven fell silent and lay on top of me, my brave boy. Oh God, it felt so good. Still, though, there were too many clothes, and my lovely host helped me undress. Now, when everything was clear between us, he looked much more confident and I found I liked him more. I glanced at his parted lips, and my imagination pictured him kissing me. The time stopped and stretched out again. I wished I could freeze that moment forever, yet simultaneously I wanted Steven to go on. I embraced him and stroked his shoulders and back.  
He shifted himself lower and looked at me silently asking for permission as though I could reject him at that moment; he was so polite. He was touching me so carefully like I could disappear at any second. I put my hand on his head and guided him slightly. Yes, that was the way I imagined his sweet lips wrapped around me. His movements were steady but slow so I could bear them. For several minutes my head was blank and I found myself in a dark pink and warm world, surrounded gently and tightly with sweetness and tenderness. I did not want it to end. Steven’s motions grew faster, and I felt very hot, my consciousness got mixed and confused and I was about to scream or sob. I pressed my hands to my face and lost myself. Dear God, please help me. It was very quiet, except for someone was moaning softly, oh yes, it was me. I sighed and opened my eyes. 

Steven was lying next to me, his cheeks were burning and lips were swollen, he was stroking my damp hair. I was overwhelmed with tenderness which I did not expect from myself, I pulled him closer and kissed his lips. Yes, they tasted like coffee ice cream, slightly bitter. I kissed his neck, his pulse was racing. I stroked his chest and led my hand lower and lower. He had been waiting for too long, and I was very careful trying not to hurt him. I whispered to him how beautiful his eyes were. He began to move his hips a little faster than my hand was moving, meaning it was time to accelerate, but I wanted to look longer at him being so helpless. Not now, I was whispering to him, wait until I let you. He moaned and closed eyes. No, not yet, I like to watch you, I murmured quietly into his ear. He covered my hand with his hand, and I took pity on him. Several fast movements, and he arched his back and relaxed. I kissed his forehead and, soon after, he fell asleep. I took him into my arms and thought about this strange day and what on earth was I supposed to do with this boy now…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to lovely [lennonbum](http://archiveofourown.org/users/lennonbum) and another wonderful British person (she asked not to reveal her name) who kindly agreed to beta read the text.


End file.
